Under Locke

by Zapata, Mariana

  He pulled me in for a hug. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

  I pulled back just a little and kissed his beard covered cheek. "Okay. Let Trip drive though."

  Sonny snorted and put both hands on top of my head, pushing my face down so that he could plant one on my forehead. "Whatever you want, kid."

  Oh, the irony. If anyone knew you didn't always get what you want, it was Sonny.

  "See ya, Son." I waved at him. "Bye, Trip. Be safe."

  Sonny inclined his head forward, smiling just barely. "See ya, kid."

  Trip added a sigh with his goodbye but I already had my attention forward, just past Sonny's frame.

  Dex and my brother shared a strange look between them as the dark-haired one made his way down the stairs. I started to round the front bumper of my car to get in when he reached out to wrap his fingers around my elbow.

  "Where ya goin'?"

  Uh... "I'm following after you."

  He made a tisking sound under his tongue. "No. You drive too slow. Hop on my bike and we'll get your car tomorrow."

  I hesitated, looking back at my car.

  “Iris.” I really liked it a little too much when he used my name. “Babe, get on. We’ll get your car later.”

  I must have waited too long because the next thing I knew, he had an arm hooked around my waist and was half carrying me-half dragging me the distance to his Dyna. Dex took my duffel, handed me a helmet that had been left on the seat and replaced the empty spot with my bag, strapping it down.

  He turned back toward me, took the helmet from my hands, and then lowered it onto my head silently. Once it was buckled on, he straddled his bike and tilted his head in my direction. “Hop on.”

  Well then. Bossy ass.

  There was all of about eight inches between Dex’s back and my bag, but what could I do about it? I had a feeling that if I argued with him more about whether I was riding with him or not, I’d lose anyway and to be honest, I was really tired. Having been on bikes with Sonny in the past, it was easy getting on but awkward when I had to shift forward on the seat so much that my crotch and thighs left no room for a sheet of paper between them and Dex’s outer thighs and beefy butt. Grudgingly, my arms slipped around his ribs as he started the bike up and backed onto the street.

  Sonny’s house was already on the outskirts of Austin, so when Dex got on the freeway leading us further out of the city, I wondered where the hell he lived but didn’t ask. My cheek was technically to his back, arms tight around his chest. I didn’t realize until then that he had a leather jacket on that did nothing to hide how solid his build was.

  Damn it.

  It was too dark to see anything well, but I could tell that we were pretty much in the middle of nowhere. The trees were huge as we zoomed off the freeway ramp with only the loud roar of his bike breaking the monotony of the ride.

  After about five minutes, he turned onto a farm road that had no name or real sign. An outline of a house was visible in the near distance over a hill. The closer we got, the more I was able to see under the moonlight. The house was a long one-story ranch style home. A huge front yard dotted with tall trees gave way to the light colored paneling of the home. It wasn’t at all the kind of place I expected Dex to live in. He seemed like the typical bachelor with a dirty apartment.

  But maybe I was just assuming that of every member of the MC. To be fair, Trip lived up to the stereotype I'd built up. There had even been socks crammed into the corners of his couch.

  When he parked the bike right in front of the paved driveway, he dismounted first before holding out a hand and helping me afterward. I yanked the helmet off while he unstrapped my bag, tilting his head in the direction of the door as his wordless come on.

  I followed in after him, taking in the minimal furniture in his living room: a brown microfiber sectional sofa, a large flat screen television mounted to the wall, an entertainment center underneath, and… that was it. Dex had dropped my bag onto the couch before turning to look at me.

  “You can take the bed, babe. I got two other rooms but not another bed to sleep in,” he explained.

  I was still looking around, past the living room to spy a kitchen that opened up directly to it but at his words, I shook my head. “No, I’ll stay on the couch. I can sleep just about anywhere.”

  While it was the truth, I wasn’t about to point out that our sixty or seventy pound weight difference on top of half a foot in height difference would definitely make me a better candidate for his long but still somewhat narrow couch.

  He opened his mouth to argue with me before I cut him off.

  “Seriously, Dex. I’ll stay on the couch, don’t worry about it. If you can just get me a pillow and a blanket…?”

  The flat, completely ill amused look on his face made think he wanted to discuss the sleeping arrangements more, but I think he understood my secret reasoning and was probably too tired to fight it. With a nod, he disappeared into a hallway to the right of the living room and couch for a couple of minutes, coming back with a pillow covered in a dark blue pillowcase and a white blanket under his arm.

  Dex handed them to me silently, watching as I laid out the blanket with a yawn and dropped the pillow onto the end of the couch closest to the front door.

  “The bathroom is down the hall, first door on your right, and my bedroom is that way,” he pointed toward another hallway on the left side of the living room. “Last door.”

  “Thanks,” I mumbled with another yawn, dropping my butt onto the cushion.

  He took a step back, locking those Crayola blue eyes on me. “Make yourself at home, and wake me up if you need anythin'.”

  I nodded my answer, smiling at him sleepily. “All right. Night, Dex.” I paused. "Thanks for everything."

  His nod was slow. “Night, babe.”

  I didn’t waste any more time trying to watch him disappear into the hallway. The moment I slipped beneath the blanket and my head hit the pillow, I realized how wide awake I was.

  Ef me.

  Small sounds creaked throughout the house. The rush of water through pipes pulled at my attention while I lay there, chin to chest, staring at the darkness. I closed my eyes and tried to will my body to wind down.

  And then I tried some more.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I woke up the next morning both way too early and in almost the same way I’d gotten scared awake just hours before at Sonny’s. Dex’s ass was on the couch crammed into the area where my hips were, one hand on my shoulder shaking me.

  “Time to get up.”

  I opened one eye, immediately focusing on the digital clock of his DVD player. I groaned, shutting it right back again. “It’s barely seven.” I’m not sure if what I said even sounded like what I’d intended it to, but it must have been enough for Dex to understand.

  “Yeah, babe, but we got a busy day. Gotta run some errands.”

  What I meant to say was, “I don’t know what errands you want to run at seven in the morning,” but it probably sounded more like “I…errands…seven…”

  Fingers swept back the black hair plastered to my face in a gesture I was too tired to appreciate. “I need to go sort Sonny's shit out.”

  Sonny. Right.

  With a grunt, I rolled onto my back and blinked at the white popcorn ceiling. I sat up half-delusional, sounding more like a man than a woman. “Okay, okay. I’m up.”

  After giving me instructions on where the towels were and how to use the tricky hot water, Dex dumped my bag in the standard guest bathroom with a tub blocked off by a neat blue and green striped curtain. I took a quick shower and pulled a brush through my hair before throwing it up into a ponytail. I bumbled out, still half-asleep to find Dex sitting on the couch watching television with my neatly folded blanket and pillow to his side.

  “Ready,” I yawned.

  He glanced up, looked back at the TV screen for half a second before darting his attention back at me. Well, specifically my legs. In my haste hours bef
ore, I’d thrown random clothes together. Apparently, I’d dug into my NSFW—not safe for work—clothing. All I’d found in the bag were shorts, yoga pants, and the three denim mini-skirts I owned. The mini-skirts were a memory of the heat and humidity in south Florida. Heat and humidity that I swear Austin compared to.

  And there was no money in the world that would get me to wear one of my skirts when I was stuck riding on the back of Dex’s bike.

  So my short shorts it was.

  By the length of time it took Dex to stop looking at my—thankfully—shaved legs, I’d gone from being flattered to uncomfortable. The only time people stared at me that intently were when they were looking at my arm. An arm that I'd thankfully managed to subconsciously pack smartly enough for by grabbing a handful of elbow-length cardigans. “I’m ready,” I repeated.

  “Right.” He stood up, huffing under his breath while turning off the television, and then striding toward the door. He gave me another sidelong glance. "You might wanna take that sweater off. It'll be pretty hot outside in no time on my bike."

  Shoot. I hadn't even thought of that. I only had a tank top beneath the cardigan and... yeah. I'd rather have pit stains than pitiful looks. "I'll be fine."

  Dex looked like he wanted to argue with me but luckily he dropped the issue.

  The ride back into town was silent, and I got to appreciate the scenery of what was outside the Austin city limits. Except for traffic and pollution, and the feel of Dex’s bare bicep and forearm touching my knee every few minutes, the ride back was fine.

  “Where are we going?” I asked him at a stoplight once we were back in the city.

  He tilted his head to the side, talking loudly over the roar of the bike. “Luther’s place,” he answered. “You remember him?”

  I nodded, reminded of the time I’d taken the package over to him and the night I’d caught him fondling up a twenty-something. Yet again, still friggin’ gross.

  We pulled into a large two story red brick home in an upper middle class neighborhood. The same truck we’d taken to Austin was parked in the driveway alongside a Harley that looked differently than Sonny and Dex’s. As soon as he’d gotten off the bike and helped me off too, knocking on it so loud I’m sure the neighbors heard.

  The door opened up much quicker than I would have expected with a disheveled looking Luther standing there bare-chested and bleary-eyed.

  “Jesus, Dex, you know it’s my day off, it’s too early for this shit.”

  Dex’s broad shoulders shifted tightly beneath the plain white tee he had on. Someone was on the verge of being a grumpy butt. “Sonny took off last night.”

  Luther let out a long and drawn out sigh from between his lips before waving Dex—and me by default—inside. “What do you mean he took off?"

  "He's goin' to look for Curt, Lu. Took Trip with him."

  The older man's features tightened, his jaw locking right before he rubbed a big palm over it roughly. "Fuck."

  "What do you expect? You saw him at Seton. You know what those pieces of shit will do if they don't get paid."

  It didn't escape me that they both glanced at me as Dex spoke the last sentence.

  I might have flinched just a little inside.

  Luther groaned again, scrubbing both hands over his face. When he dropped his palms, he slowly turned to look at me. It hit me right then that the older man had the same sky blue eyes Trip did. Huh.

  "Honey, don't go anywhere without one of the club members with you."

  The second time in my life that the "Prez" had spoken to me and he was warning me. The urge to go visit Lanie was right smack on my forehead, but I knew I shouldn't.

  Dex let out a long sigh. “I got this. Don’t worry about it,” he assured the older man.

  I, on the other hand, had a really bad feeling about this.

  ~ * ~

  “Who are those guys?” I asked Dex over breakfast.

  After we left Luther’s house, we’d loaded back on the bike and made our way over to a diner nearby. We squeezed into a booth across from each other and ordered breakfast in a murmur of low requests.

  Dex looked up at me as he shoveled half of a breakfast sausage into his mouth. “What guys?” He even had the nerve to look around the diner like I’d be asking about any other guys besides the ones who had taken Sonny.

  “The guys at the bar. The ones my dad owes money to,” I explained, eyeing the dark circles under his radiant blue eyes. Dex had some seriously thick eyelashes.

  He chewed on only one side of his mouth, eyeing me wearily. “They're another club in SA."

  That was something I already knew.

  “They don’t like us," he added vaguely.

  You have got to be kidding me. “They don’t like you guys?”

  “Yeah.”

  “They don’t like you guys so they beat up Sonny instead of looking for our dad?” I could smell his bullshit a mile away.

  He knew I had him, so he nodded his answer. “It's more complicated than that, Ritz. They're all Widows’ rejects. They'll try to start shit with us for whatever reason they can come up.”

  "Explain that."

  He lifted a brow. "Explain what?"

  "What do you mean by them being rejects?"

  Dex sighed, his mouth twisting. "Your pa never told you this?"

  I gave him a flat look.

  "You know the Original 12?" he asked.

  I shook my head, earning another sigh. "They were the first Widowmakers. Twelve pissed off vets. Tough as shit, hated every single thing about the government. My granddaddy on my ma's side was one."

  That made a heck of a lot of sense. One badass passing on the gene to another badass.

  Dex kept going with his story. "They got into shady shit. Drug runnin', enforcin', shit that gets everybody into trouble." He shook his head. "Gets people killed, babe, but what the hell did they care? I remember my granddaddy was cool as fuck but he wasn't right. None of 'em were."

  I suddenly had the urge to find out what Dex considered as "not right." Then again, I probably didn't want to.

  "As the club grew with more and more assholes wantin' in on the money and the respect and the ass, they got into more shit. Girls—"

  Prostitution?

  "—bad shit, Ritz. Years, that was the way things were run. Once the 12 were all too old to give a fuck, Luther took over the club. He knew we were in deep with the Mexicans when he took over. Some of the brothers were gettin' restless, sloppy. They wanted more money, more drama. More, more, more, more. Then, a run got fucked up. The Mexicans got pissed, and took care of Luther's wife in retaliation."

  I made a face that earned me a slow nod of understanding from Dex. Even hearing it again after so many years, it sounded just as terrible.

  "Yeah, babe. It was bad. I was a little pimple-faced shit back then but I remember. Lu lost his fuckin' mind. I mean, lost it. He made it his mission to clean us up after that. The club was all cash capital back then. He wanted to open up businesses and make the money legit. It was a good plan. Better for everybody even if the money wasn't goin' to be as good first, it would've worked. The problem was, not everybody wanted to get clean."

  That I could understand. Men living in their own little world with no regard for society, making money, scaring the shit out of people? It made sense though it didn't seem like a life I'd want to live.

  "There were more brothers who wanted to get clean after Darcy's death than not. It scared the fuck out of everybody with families, babe. They saw that Lu had his shop. It'd never been tied up with club finances. Lotta members left when the club voted to try the clean way. They left but they were pissed. Felt like they'd gotten fucked over, and men like that don't get over shit. Ever. They all hooked up, started up the Reapers."

  And then I winced. I could understand why the men would have held a grudge. I did. They'd join the WMC for one reason and then that reason had morphed into something completely different. After everything they'd lost—friends and family—t
hey'd gotten kicked out.

  "It took a couple years but the MC bought the bar. Lu wasn't starvin' for money and he financed us buyin' an auto parts store." He lifted a shoulder like the conclusion was inevitable. "That didn't help the situation out."

  "I bet."

  "Just the way shit is."

  I tried to process everything he'd explained. Why the Reapers hated the Widowmakers. Why they'd be such jackasses. But there was one thing about his explanation that didn't make any sense.

  "Why did they let my dad borrow money if he was a Widow?" Right?